


Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

by assbuttsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assbuttsinlove/pseuds/assbuttsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen year old hunter in training Dean Winchester is sent into the woods with one command, to come back home with the heart of the wolf.  He goes into the forest, unsure of what he will find.  Armed with nothing but his silver dagger and his wits, he comes face to face with the wolf, and must figure out how to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is terrible, isn't it? A little twist on red riding hood, inspired by [this post](http://benjaminlafitte.tumblr.com/post/100363654317/red-riding-hood-deanbenny-au-though-man-like-dean-is/) on tumblr.

It was high time Dean admitted the truth, he was lost. 

He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and felt a shiver ripple through his body.  The temperature was rapidly dropping, and the light in the sky, slowly fading.  What had started out as a bright, cheerful day, was now bleeding into a cold, dark night, a cold dark night that he would be forced to spend in the woods, alone.  The thought of it made him shudder.

The trees surrounded him on all sides, their gnarled trunks and branches looming like dark ghosts.  The wind curled through the trees, making the leaves whisper and shake overhead.  They continued to drift down towards him, a motley of yellows and oranges, dried up and dead, falling into piles on the ground.  As he walked, they crunched below his feet, a sound, that he usually found quite pleasant, now only served to make him even more nervous than he already was. 

His father had sent him into the woods under the pretense of scouting for food and other dangers.  They had recently moved into the small village on the edge of a larger town, and while most of the villagers had warned them against going into the woods, the elder man had sent him in anyway. 

“You know what we’re looking for, Dean,” his father had said gravely.

Dean had nodded and looked over at his younger brother who was fast asleep on his cot.  “Yes, father,” he had replied meekly. 

His father had then pressed a silver dagger into his hand.  The blade felt cold against his palm, and he had looked up at his father in shock.

“You’re of age now, Dean, you’ve seen eighteen summers, and you’re more than ready to hunt on your own. Bring me back the heart of the wolf.  Then I’ll know you’re ready,” he had said.

Dean had nodded again, dumbly. His tongue had seemed to swell up in his mouth and there wasn’t much he could say.  He had glanced over at his brother’s sleeping figure once more and tried to stifle the fear rising in the pit of his stomach.

_The heart of the wolf.  The wolf who resided deep within the forest.  The wolf who killed and ate humans, who feasted on their flesh and drank their blood for sport._

Sometimes, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his father simply wanted him dead and gone. 

Dean stopped walking and looked up into the sky, or what he could see of it through the thick growth of trees. The soft periwinkle that had been there before was now draining into a tub of dark, dusky blue. He could make out tiny clusters of stars, beginning to show themselves.  The moon was still nowhere in sight and he sent up a silent prayer for that small blessing.  He could feel the dagger in its sheath pressed up against his side.  It provided a small reassurance to him, that if anything came his way, he would at least have something other than his own staff to protect himself with. 

He had been on hunts with his father before, and he had done well.  He had killed a vampire, and had managed to get rid of a wendigo, but most of his time was spent looking after his younger brother Sam, keeping him blissfully unaware of what their father was _really_ doing. Dean was the one who made sure that Sam learned his letters and numbers, made sure that he had enough food and books to read and that he stayed warm and safe, no matter what. 

Sometimes, Dean felt bitter that he had been reduced to this, a caretaker, but he loved his brother fiercely and so he took care of him, the best way he knew how.  Now, it seemed as though his father was ready to have him go on hunts on his own, and this was the only way to test him, to see if he was ready.

Dean laughed bitterly to himself, with his luck, he would be dead by morning. 

Perhaps, he should have been paying more attention to where he was going instead of looking up at the stars, but he wasn’t, and so he didn’t notice the steep decline that he was rapidly approaching. He continued to move forward, unaware that his next step would cause him to lose his footing, and so when he did, it caught him by surprise.  He yelped out loud and closed his eyes as he stumbled and then tumbled down the small hill.  He rolled on the ground, feeling rocks and twigs poke at him and then the worst pain of all, a dull thump on the back of his skull as it made contact with a boulder. Dizzy and disoriented, he remained on the ground, his head throbbing.  The trees above him were spinning and he smiled. The wolf would find him and eat him, probably, he thought. 

He could feel something warm on his forehead, _blood_ , he had been cut somehow. He reached up and touched it with his fingers.   

The last thing he remembered was the sound of dried leaves crinkling beneath boots, and a pair of brilliantly blue eyes hovering above him before he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Dean awoke, he was in a bed.

A soft, comfortable bed that smelled like pine needles and eucalyptus leaves.  He wrinkled his nose and opened his eyes and was greeted by a soft darkness. There was a lantern on a corner table emitting a weak warm light.  He blinked several times and began to pull himself up to a sitting position. Immediately, the room began to spin. 

_Where the hell was he? Had he died?  Was this…death?_

He frowned and sniffed.  No.  This couldn’t be death.  He curled his fingers into a fist and pressed his nails into his palm. He winced.  He could still feel.  He bit down on his bottom lip and sniffed the air. He could smell… _bread?_ He began to fumble his way around, tossing off the soft blankets and swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

He let out a soft gasp when he realized that his silver dagger was sitting on the small bedside table.  He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and picked up the dagger. 

Someone had brought him here. Someone had undressed him and left him in his undergarments.  They had tended to a wound on his forehead, he could feel the stiffness of a bandage on his head and he reached up with trembling fingers to touch it. The material felt soft beneath his fingertips. 

He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a few moments, collecting himself, squeezing down on the hilt of the blade, and dealing with the waves of shame that were rolling through his body. His father would not be pleased. He had tripped and fallen and had hurt himself, all on his own, all because he was wasting time looking at the damned stars, looking for that damned constellation Sam had showed him once.

Hot tears prickled at his eyes. He was so stupid. Perhaps this was why his father had sent him into the woods, so he would trip and fall and die somewhere.

He allowed a few tears to roll down his cheeks and then he sniffled, wiping them away with the back of his hand. No, he wasn’t going to sit here and wallow, he was going to get out of here.  He gripped onto his blade tightly and got up, walking on unsteady legs over to the lantern in the corner.  He picked it up and the shaky light accompanied him over to the door. 

With a trembling hand he opened the door.

* * *

Once he was out of the bedroom, the smell of bread was even stronger.  He moved forward, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  The bedroom led out into a small living space, a wooden table that looked hand carved, along with beautiful chairs. There were shelves covered with books and other odds and ends.  There was a soft looking chair with a little table next to it that held what looked like a smoking pipe and a mug for coffee.  There was a little kitchen off to the side and he realized that there was something bubbling on the stovetop. 

The house was cozy and small, and… _empty._ There was no one else here but him and that terrified him more than anything else. 

He walked over to the stove and inhaled the heavenly scent coming from the pot.  It was some kind of stew, and his mouth watered.  His stomach grumbled loudly in response and his cheeks flushed.

“You must be hungry,” someone said from behind him.

Dean whipped around, his dagger out in his hand, the trembling that had accompanied it before, now gone.  He clenched his jaw and quickly took in the man who was standing over at the door. 

He was tall, and burly, with a beard that covered his cheeks and chin.  He wore simple clothing, and a black hat on his head.  He had a few logs pressed against his chest with one arm, in the other hand, an axe hung limply at his side. 

Almost as though he had a sixth sense, Dean could tell there was something off about this man.  Dean wondered if he was even a man at all. He watched as the stranger slowly placed his axe on the ground and kicked it away. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.  I just went to get some wood to make a fire and for the stove,” he said. 

“What are you?” Dean asked coolly.

The man smiled and shook his head. “My name is Benny,” he began.

Dean scoffed at him and narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say who, I said _what_ ,” he said. He blinked and took a deep breath. His head was still spinning but he was somehow managing to remain on his own two feet. 

“Brother, I’m not gonna hurt you—”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, you gave me that song and dance already. Just answer my question, what are you?” he asked again.  He knew he sounded way more confident than he felt, and his grip on the blade was slick and slippery with sweat.   Dean observed the man intently, waiting for some kind of response. 

The man sighed and shook his head. He looked down, and then when he looked back up, his eyes had changed from a soft, baby blue to a shimmery copper gold meld.  “I’m the wolf,” he said with a little smile. “And I can hear your heart beating in your chest from all the way over here, little one,” he said softly.

Dean swallowed thickly and took a step back. _The wolf? He was in the wolf’s lair?_ He glanced around the quaint cottage once more. 

The wolf, the man, _Benny_ took a step forward.  “What’s your name?” he asked. 

Dean swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Get away from me or I’ll…” his voice trailed off.

Benny, _the wolf_ , smiled.  “What are you gonna do, cub? Kill me?” he asked. 

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat and he tightened his grip on his blade.  Across the room, the wolf was smiling at him, his eyes shimmering gold and amber. “Yes,” Dean whispered.

The wolf laughed and he removed his hat. He placed his little bundle of logs onto the ground and he bared his teeth.  “Well then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Dean’s eyes widened and then without thinking, he charged forward, knife in hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts and comments are always appreciated :D


End file.
